


Lost and found

by holesinthesky



Series: Like somebody else [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Also fluff, Angst, Character Study, Derek Has Feelings, Derek is not the most reliable narrator, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Future Fic, M/M, Sexual Identity, and talks about them, and the delicate handling thereof, but not really enough to tag, did i mention the fluff?, discussion of past abusive relationship, the others are there too, very fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-10
Updated: 2014-05-10
Packaged: 2018-01-24 06:57:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1595759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/holesinthesky/pseuds/holesinthesky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Most people look at Derek and assume he is having more sex than anyone else in the room."</p><p>In which Derek has the worst time, but then it gets better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lost and found

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by the ever lovely and talented [elephantfootprints](http://likeanelephantfootprint.tumblr.com/). And by beta'd I of course mean "made exponentially better through the use of GOOD WORDS and the liberal application of dialogue tags". You should read her stuff, you guys. She's better than me.
> 
> Please tell me if there is anything else I should tag for. The abusive relationship (no prizes for guessing which) is not mentioned in graphic detail and I don't think there is anything triggering in here, but I will happily add more tags if needed. A character does have a brief flashback/panicky episode.

Most people look at Derek and assume he is having more sex than anyone else in the room. It’s the same set of assumptions that makes people say “oh, well of course she has a boyfriend” and “but have you seen him?!” and Derek hates it. Hates that this face he didn’t get any say in and this body he needs to survive have somehow become a neon sign that says, “Oversexed and unattainable!”. Sometimes he hates even more that he has used it to his advantage. For someone with such temperamental patience with other people, it is useful to know that a blood-hot assessing look or a winning smile can get a beautiful man a long way. And maybe he gets a kick out of it, exercising that power over someone the same way it had been exercised over him before he knew any better. He never said he was a saint.

So he sneers at the optimistic guys in The Jungle, drags a rough hand up Erica’s trembling leg and works hard to suppress the flinch whenever someone lays a hand on him with intent. Violent rebuttal usually takes the edge off the shocky drop of his stomach at moments like this.

When he had returned to Beacon Hills, Derek could count on the fingers of one hand the number of times he had had sex, and on the fingers of his elbow how many times he had enjoyed it. He had come, felt briefly like he had achieved some great milestone of manhood, but then he was left with Kate’s condescending smirk, sticky underwear full of come and the feeling that he wasn’t living up to some mysterious criteria. And he wasn’t. He wasn’t just less than satisfactory, he was less than human. But he did at least provide the location of the spare key and access to enough of his clothing to lay a scent trap. So at least he wasn’t entirely useless. And last time he tried to love someone, she died, so maybe this was what he deserved.

If you were to ask Derek to describe his sexuality he would probably stop at “broken”, or just break your face. He’s not really a sharer. But privately he can elaborate a little. When the only touch you can stand is your own you are left with a lot of time to contemplate your own preferences. He doesn’t plan on making the mistake of trusting an actual person enough to have partnered sex any time soon so he long ago decided to get the most out of his own company.

Derek likes to read about great historic battles, to see the crack of long-obsolete weaponry and imagine battalions like wolfpacks, working together with total trust. But he sure as shit wouldn’t want to fight in one, so who’s to say he would actually enjoy sucking cock? It’s a compelling mental image, if such things can be measured in gasping orgasms that have him blushing even in an empty room. And the faceless man is far less likely to grow long blonde curls and a coy smirk and ruin everything.

Jennifer had been a leap of faith, and what a dumb idea that had been. She was so sweet and unsure, so unthreatening and well meaning, he really thought he could do it. He had sucked up his courage, put on his best winning smile and tried to be a nice guy who could be touched without retching. It had worked, kind of. He had come, and he felt briefly like he had achieved some great milestone of self-healing, but then he was left with murdered teenagers, an evil tree and the unshakeable knowledge that he was right all along: this wasn’t for him.

He knows he’s hostile. Sometimes he is oddly proud of the persona he has made for himself. Less than a decade ago he was to all intents and purposes an orphaned rape victim with rage and trust issues coming out of his ears. Now he’s powerful, he’s the alpha, he’s in control. He knows he sucks at it a lot of the time, but at least he’s sucking at keeping teenagers who are scared of him in line, instead of sucking at getting out of bed, sucking at leaving the far away, alien apartment, sucking at being in his own crawling skin.

So they limp through high school, and Derek limps through each day. The pack graduates, or what passes for a pack in Beacon Hills. Scott is technically the alpha now, but he never really wanted to be any kind of ruler and they are too busy running for their lives to establish a pack structure so they operate what Stiles sometimes refers to as their Socialist Republic of Scared Teenagers.

Not three days into summer, Lydia apparently reaches breaking point and announces that they are “putting that fucking tree down in a permanent way” so that they can all go to college without having to freak out about coming home to Sunnydale when they want their laundry done.

For three weeks, Lydia and Stiles lock themselves in Deaton’s clinic and wring the poor bastard for everything he has ever even hinted at knowing about anything. They do it, though; the tree is gone, taking with it Peter, the “sacrificial asshole”. There is something supremely fucked up about Derek watching his teenage friends gleefully string up his only living uncle to die and being ok with it, but like most fucked up things in their lives, it’s not so bad in context. Three years of antagonistic plotting, two more instances of downright murder and a sprinkling of zombie sociopathy do wonders to assuage his giving a single shit about that man.

So the pack leaves, to the four corners of the US, their faces an absurd collage of regret and bone-deep relief. They get to not be here for four years, and it will do them the world of good. Derek stays, and broods, and treats the flirty clerk at the gas station with the same hostile suspicion he always did. It’s comforting almost, having a familiar town full of people he knows exactly how to hate.

Only now there’s no monsters to keep him busy, he starts to notice that he is a 23 year old man with no job, no friends his own age, and no real purpose in his life beyond keeping almost everyone the hell away from him. Partly because he knows it will give the pack a laugh, he signs up to become a deputy with the Sheriff’s Department. Even he can enjoy the irony of his butterfly-like transformation from surly and antisocial person of interest in a murder investigation to surly and antisocial deputy. It’s not like he needs the money, but there are at least minimal opportunities to act superior around assholes.

~

After four years the pack comes shuffling back mumbling something about missing their parents while looking around the pack meeting with syrupy eyes.

Scott and Isaac have an apartment across town where, if Derek gave it any thought, he would be convinced that they have earnest, wide eyed sex and giggle over dumb video games. But he doesn’t give it any thought. Kira and Malia share the place next door to the boys, where presumably they sharpen their deadly weapons and try to ignore the heartfelt moaning coming through the wall. Stiles is living with his dad again, because he never seems to be happier than when he is curtailing that poor man’s grease intake. But then having witnessed the Sheriff sans son, Derek will grudgingly admit that its where he belongs for now. Lydia and Danny, who surprised no one by making a mysterious and probably highly intellectual and terrifying fortune at some point in the last few years, share a disgustingly well-appointed apartment in the “metropolitan” downtown area.

And Derek, because he is nothing if not a glutton for punishment, is still at the loft. He has made more of a home of it now, but he still holds pack meetings over the spot that Boyd died. The spot where he killed Boyd. It doesn’t do to forget some things.

They eventually settle into a system of “co-captaining”, as Stiles so delights in calling it. Scott is the alpha, obviously, and he does the emotions and the major heroics, but Derek knows wolves, and has more room in his loft, so they share the job for the most part. He will crawl over hot coals to deny it, but Derek wants the old warm blanket of pack so much it hurts, and even this rag-tag excuse for one is something. Tough love has its place, and damn is he good at that, but eventually he makes a conscious effort to engender something of the warmth they all felt under his mother. Jennifer was a mistake, but maybe he can trust these infantile weirdos, maybe they can be something like a family.

It’s awkward, and he has to grit his teeth and push through the sceptical glances and awkward no-homo posturing, but the first puppy pile is so much of what he missed that its a struggle not to cry into Isaac’s hair. He can’t stand a sexual touch but this familial contact is like a balm, and he can feel the tentative contentment rolling off the others. They settle into a rhythm after that, pack meetings devolving into piling up in front of something they will fall asleep to, wrapped twice around each other. Derek had carefully marketed it as pack bonding, to the benefit of all, but he’s never sure if they saw through his inability to ask for a hug.

~

All things considered, he’s only slightly surprised to find himself sitting on his nasty old sofa a year later with a very drunk Stiles drooling delicately into his shirt. The make-the-pack-nicer initiative has been going nicely, they are even kind of functional these days, by a given value of functional. Everyone else has gone home, but Stiles, as the biggest ragdoll lightweight for miles around, had fallen asleep on Derek’s arm an hour ago and he is just so pathetically adorable, Derek can’t bring himself to throw him out.

Stiles wakes with a start, mouthing at thin air and squinting at Derek in the sickly glow from the pause screen on the TV. Derek will swear up and down that he never thought about it until that moment, but Stiles’s eyes are kind of huge and liquid and floating over this retrousse, freckled nose and ok, maybe he’s kind of beautiful. The thought makes him wonder if he suffered for it too, but then he remembers that the worst thing to happen to Stiles’s heart in his formative years was six years of rejection by Lydia Martin. Maybe he liked the attention, maybe he had been up to his eyeballs in beautiful girls at college.

It was while he was contemplating this that Stiles kind of… fell into Derek’s mouth with his mouth, and stayed there for a moment. Stiles then jerks back like he’s been electrocuted and immediately starts to backpedal,

“Dude. Dude, I am so sorry. I don’t even know what I was-. Sorry. Shit.”

“It’s ok, you’re drunk,” mumbles Derek, too startled to do much more than stare dumbly back. It hadn’t even felt like an attack, just a weird, sloppy extension of when they all napped as a pack or something. Huh.

“No, no, that’s no excuse. I know you don’t...” Stiles waves his hands at roughly all of Derek, clearly demonstrating something he thinks is obvious.

“Don’t...?” prompts Derek.

“Y’know, relationships, sex, whatever. I figured you were asexual or something.” Stiles coughs weakly and makes to gather his things.

“Or something,” says Derek, softly, and walks Stiles out.

As they reach the door, he pulls Stiles back by his elbow and looks him in the eye.

“It’s ok, you don’t need to go home and beat yourself up about it. I know you mean no harm. I’m used to you being kind of a spazz at this point, y’know?” Derek can’t help a small smirk at the end there.

Stiles grunts a small, rough laugh. “Yeah, whatever. Night, bro.”

Derek falls asleep and dreams of being on a train surrounded by faceless strangers who keep trying to hold his hand. It’s mostly irritating.

~

Pack dinner is a thing they do now. The table that used to hold survival plans and gruesome artefacts now holds enormous pots of overcooked chilli and mismatched crockery. Derek only realises how big the pack has gotten when it became obvious that his four dining chairs won’t cut it. Each month Scott and Isaac drag along these godawful collapsible chairs that came with their godawful rented apartment and the last four to arrive sway lightly through dinner on the uneven legs. It's nice though. They fight over who overcooked the chilli and Stiles fights with his dad over eating too much greasy cornbread and by the end of it Danny is telling the story of his latest baffling physical achievement and Derek can feel the contentment floating in the rafters like so much hot air. 

They are all slipping into food comas on the nasty couch when Derek hears giggling from the Scott and Isaac corner. He cracks an eye open to look over and sees them angled towards him and... Oh. Stiles, asleep on him again. He has a bit of a cold so his mouth is open, slack and dry, which should be gross but is actually kind of cute. He's not sure when this started, this thinking Stiles is cute. Stiles used to be infuriating, then funny, then useful, then finally just good to have around. He has a fierce, reckless loyalty that's almost got him killed as many times as it's made people love him. Every life threatening situation needs someone to make inappropriate jokes in the midst of it, and Stiles is definitely a shoo in for that job. 

Malia is tucked up to Stiles’s other side, twitching in her sleep like a puppy. Something about all that time as a coyote has left her with some endearingly canine traits. Well, more canine traits than the rest of the wolves. Derek thinks they might have been dating for a while, Stiles and Malia. Well, for what counts as dating when you’re eighteen and one of you is still figuring out how human bodies work. They smelled like sex and each other for a while, so he jumped to the obvious conclusion. He wonders what it must be like, to be able to relax and trust someone enough to be able to have sex like it was nothing, like it wasn’t the most vulnerable you could be.

Melissa and the Sheriff eventually leave, muttering about old bones and being old enough to want to wake up in their own beds. The Sheriff, John, he reminds himself, squeezes Derek’s shoulder on the way past.

“See you on Monday, kid,” he murmurs.

Derek snorts quietly to himself at the endearment, pushes his face into Stiles’s hair and falls asleep.

~

He seems to have set a precedent for himself as someone who doesn’t mind being draped in sleeping Stileses. This precedent begins to extend beyond pack meetings, or pack dinners. Now Stiles just shows up, flops onto the sofa and produces white noise until Derek sits down, gives him food, or, God forbid, responds. Derek will grudgingly admit to finding the chatter comforting. Or sometimes he thinks that he just likes having someone around who he feels free to touch without freaking out.

It’s on one of these nights that Stiles puts his big feet in it again.

“So dude, I know this is none of my business, but I just can’t work you out. Are you… do you… is the… is the no dating like a choice… thing? ‘Cause dude. You could, err, you could have your pick.”

“You’re right, it is none of your business,” Derek deadpans.

“You’re right, I know. Sorry, shit. I’ll shut up.” Stiles says, visibly squirming.

“No it’s fine, you’re fine. Apparently badly timed sarcasm is a reflex. It’s… it’s ok, I guess, I don’t talk about it. I just… yeah. It’s a choice. It’s to do with my history and.. yeah, it’s not for me. I’m ok with it.” It’s only a bit of a lie, really.

“Ok. Sorry again, for the prying. And for that err, that kiss that time, I really didn’t mean to start anything awkward.”

Derek curls up into the sofa cushion and rests his head against the back, his eyes slipping closed. “I told you then, it’s ok.”

He hears Stiles shuffling about, rearranging all those limbs.

“You’re not actually interested anyway, right?” Derek asks a moment later. His heart hammers in his chest as he realises what he just asked, what he just potentially walked into.

Stiles’s heart rate picks up to match and he shifts in his seat. “I ahhh, I don’t know? I didn’t really think about it, y’know, and then you kinda settled into this place, and got the pack closer and now we frickin’ _snuggle_ and I just. I don’t know, I wonder sometimes I guess? But dude, really, no pressure, no broken hearts here, I am cool with… whatever.” He swallows thickly.

Derek opens his eyes and finds himself locked into Stiles’s gaze, feeling kinda shocky and cold all of a sudden. He looks so wide-eyed and earnest, Derek’s not feeling the urge to shove and sneer. “Stiles, I can’t. I… I like having you around but I have my reasons and I just… I don’t think I can-”

“Hey, hey, it’s alright, you don’t have to explain yourself. I shouldn’t have said anything. Hug it out?” He looks at Derek’s curled up form. “Or not. Not is cool. Do you want me to go? Shit, I’m sorry, I made it awkward anyway didn’t I?” Stiles makes to put his shoes on.

“No, stay.” Derek says, taking his arm. “Hang on. I’m not good at this. I usually just punch people. But I think I’ve thrown you around enough.”

“Yeah. Enough violence in our past thanks, we can use words now,” Stiles says. “Is it the guy thing? Shit, sorry, more questions. Shut up, Stiles.”

Derek laughs. “No, it’s not the guy thing. I mean the whole thing is mostly… theoretical, and I do like you. God, I don’t know why I’m actually telling you all this.”

Stiles just looks at him, face open, hugging his knees.

“I, ahh, I had a court appointed shrink for a little while, just long enough to put a bunch of shitty terms against my name. Y’know, “trust issues”, “survivors guilt”.... “victim of sexual abuse”.” Shit shit shit, he said it. He said it outloud. He closes his eyes so he doesn’t see Stiles’s face deciding he can’t handle this.

Stiles doesn’t even move. “Kate?” he asks.

“Kate,” Derek confirms. He heaves a sigh. “You might have noticed how anyone outside the pack who tries to touch me tends to get hit.”

“Yeah, but you’re pretty hostile, dude. I figured that was just a natural extension.” Stiles pauses. “I can see how the Ms. Blake situation wouldn’t have helped.”

Derek chokes off a bitter laugh. “Yeah, no. That didn’t help. Something of a clincher, that one.”

“Yeah, I can see that.”

Derek looks up to meet Stiles’s gaze and has a sudden urge to touch him. Just some kind of contact, a comfort. He grabs Stiles's hand, now slack on the sofa cushion between them. He looks down at Stiles’s long, pale fingers and thinks about how they’ve been on his hips and he doesn’t want to smash them.

“Look, I’m not saying this can be anything, but let me think about it, ok? You’re pack, I trust you. It would be… nice,” Derek says.

“Ok.” Stiles squeezes Derek’s fingers gently. “Hug it out?”

Derek rolls his eyes and pulls Stiles into his chest, tucking his nose into the nape of Stiles’s neck.

“Eugh, man, honestly. I would be happy with just this. You are obscenely good to hug, I think it’s all the damn muscles.”

“Shut up. Please.”

“Whatever, you love this shit.”

~

So he thinks about it, off and on. He tries thinking about it when he jerks off it but it’s no good. Fantasies are fantasies because they won’t happen. He thinks of Stiles’s actual hands on his actual body and he just freaks out. But they hug a lot. If the pack has noticed, they don’t say anything and he’s grateful for that. Sometimes he thinks Stiles is going to bring it up again, he must be itching to know, but he never does ask. Part of Derek feels bad for keeping him on the line like this, but he is just so far out of his comfort zone even considering this that he can’t move any faster. But maybe… maybe he can include Stiles in the process. Talking can be like pulling teeth but he’s not an idiot, he knows it would probably be a good idea. He’s almost proud of how functional he’s managing to be.

For the first time on record, Derek invites Stiles round to the loft, instead of just waiting for him to turn up of his own accord. He fills Stiles’s hands with pizza and coke and pushes him over to the couch. Derek takes a deep breath.

“So... yes. Let’s try this,” he says.

Stiles’s eyes go wide. “Really?” he splutters through a mouthful of Meat Lover’s.

“Yes. But it is gonna be… glacially slow. Ok?” Derek asks.

“Ok. Sure, yes. Fine. I mean.. really? I didn’t really think...”

Derek just raises a sardonic eyebrow and waits of Stiles to wind down.

“Shut up, I’m surprised.”

“You are such a dork,” Derek says, fondly.

“Yeah, I am. Frickin’ adorable isn’t it?” Stiles grins.

Derek suddenly needs to move. “Wanna go out? Like, out of the apartment? I think I need… air, or something.”

Stiles gestures mutely to the pizza in his lap, half of which is hanging out of that ludicrous mouth of his.

“Take it with you? Let’s get out of here.”

Which is how they end up walking past the old mill buildings of Derek’s neighbourhood towards the suburbs, evening sun on their necks, giving themselves indigestion by eating as they walk.

“So how’s the job then, Deputy Hale?” Stiles asks, with just a hint of a dirty smirk.

“Oh god, do not tell me you have a uniform kink. This will never work.” Derek says, suppressing a laugh. Stiles just winks at him, and Derek rolls his eyes. “It’s good, I like it. Sure, my partner is some kind of imbecile but your dad’s great, and it’s good to feel like I’m helping, y’know?”

“Yeah, I can see that. That was the one good thing about our fucked up high school years I guess, at least we were helping. And there is something about the camaraderie of shared suffering, man. Makes for some good friends. I mean Scott and I have been bros since we were four, but the others. I got a whole family, dude. I needed that.”

“When you think about it, we kind of all did,” Derek mused. “Most of us are some kind of orphan.”

Stiles eats the last slice of pizza in two bites and ditches the box in the nearest trash can.

“So,” Derek starts, “You know what you wanna do with yourself yet?”

“Oh Jesus man, why would you ask that?” Stiles sobs dramatically. “You know I have no idea. The job market is not exactly clamouring for history majors right now. Can’t I just keep doing what I’m doing?”

“What, splitting your time between mine and your dad’s couches while continuing your extensive research into every single episode of Battlestar Galactica?” Derek smirks.

“No, dickhead, the bestiary. I know we’ve been mostly monster free for a few years now, but that shit needs a proper database. Something _searchable_ for Christ’s sake. I’ve been trying to make one. Archaic latin is slow going when Lydia is only willing to help in the small windows of time when she is not conquering the world or belittling her latest boyfriend,” Stiles says.

“God, that poor boy.” Derek shakes his head.

“Yeah, he is ill equipped, man. I see them together and I just can’t shake the mental image of a falcon playing with its food.”

Derek snorts. “Yeah, she’s a piece of work,” he says fondly.

Stiles is quiet for a second before he takes a breath and his heartbeat ticks up a notch. Derek looks over and sees that he’s blushing.

“God, this is gonna come out like I’m thirteen years old, but. Can I hold your hand?” Stiles says, getting even redder. It’s kind of adorable.

Derek takes his hand without a word and shoulder checks him gently, turning away to hide his grin.

“Such a dork,” Derek mumbles to himself fondly.

“I heard that.”

Derek looks around and Stiles is looking right at him, flushed and grinning and Derek just… he wants to kiss him. His stomach swoops and he goes cold all over for a second. He thinks he recovers quickly but Stiles must have noticed something. He squeezes Derek’s fingers.

“You alright?” Stiles asks.

“Yeah. Fine. I just-” Derek stops walking. Communication, he thinks to himself. Communication. He ducks his head and explains himself to his shoes. “I just- I wanted to… to kiss you and it freaked me out a bit. I told you this would be tough going.”

Stiles is blushing furiously when Derek looks up. He looks away and sucks his lips into his mouth like he’s trying not to smile, or cry. It doesn’t work and he breaks into a face splitting grin.

“Sorry, sorry, totally inappropriate, but dude. You just said you wanted to kiss me. I might need a moment.”

His smile is getting bigger, and he seems to be getting twitchy. His mouth opens and a little chokey sound comes out. He suddenly erupts out of Derek’s grip and throws his head back, limbs everywhere and shouts, “DID YOU HEAR THAT?! DEREK HALE WANTS TO KISS ME! YEP! HAH!” He punches the air a final time and then seems to get a handle on himself, looking over at Derek who stares back, shell shocked. Stiles loses it again and doubles over laughing, wheezing and hitting his thigh.

They are in a sleepy suburban street, there are bikes lying discarded on lawns, sprinklers going, curtains twitching and Stiles is shouting at the sky about Derek and kissing. Derek feels like he fell out of reality. Stiles wipes a tear from his cheek and meets Derek’s eyes.

“Oh god. I am so sorry about that. We should get moving before someone calls my dad. Did I freak you out? I freaked myself out a bit,” Stiles babbles.

Now, now, do it now, Derek thinks to himself. So he does it now. He takes the three strides into Stiles’s space, gets a hand on his neck and presses their lips together. Just quickly, it’s barely there, but its warm and soft and it doesn’t make him want to run away. He steps completely away and hugs himself, arms tight around his own chest. Now Stiles looks shell shocked.

Slowly, the smile slips back onto Stiles’s face and he holds his hand out to Derek, long, pale fingers offering no threat at all. Derek takes his hand.

They walk the long way home, skirting the edge of the preserve, barely saying a word. Sometimes when Derek looks to the side Stiles is just watching him, teeth dug into his bottom lip, not even looking at the road.

~

Derek is trying to scowl a hole into the latest incident report when John drops into the chair in front of his desk.

“Derek.”

“Sheriff.”

John looks at him, assessing. He bring an arm up to his chest and rests an elbow on it, cupping his face and scrutinising Derek. Derek absolutely does not squirm.

“...Sheriff?”

“Sorry, Derek, I’m just trying to work out what it is about you that has entirely stolen my son’s attention recently.”

Derek feels the flush creep over his cheeks. The Sheriff has a little smirk on his face like he’s really enjoying this.

“Beats me, Sheriff. Knowing Stiles it’s either my cable subscription or my waffle maker.”

“And you do know Stiles, don’t you?” John says, that smirk spreading across his face, and he does look so much like his son just then. It’s an odd feeling for Derek.

Derek leans back in his chair and looks the Sheriff in the eye, letting himself smile a little. “Yeah, I do. Is, ah, is that a problem?”

“God, no, not at all. I like you, Derek. I just get a kick out of intimidating my son’s… partners? Is that a good gender neutral term? Gotta get your thrills somehow at my age.”

“Um...” Derek flounders. “Thanks, I think? He’s a great guy. We’re taking it really slow, I’m ahh, cautious about relationships.”

“Hey, no details needed here, son. Just look after each other. And if you break his heart, they’ll be picking bits of you out of the trees for years,” he says, levering himself out of the chair.

Derek freezes up.

“Oh boy, Derek, your face is a picture! I’m just messing with you. Don’t let him take advantage of you. I love him to bits but that kid is a menace.” He heads back to his office past Derek’s shoulder, patting it on the way. “Good talk.”

“Uh, yeah. Good…. good,” Derek mumbles to his retreating back.

As soon as he hears the door click behind him he works his phone out of his pocket to text Stiles.

_Me: Just got the boyfriend talk. Thanks._

The reply chimes through just seconds later, followed swiftly by another.

_Stiles: Dude, really? That’s excellent. Did he do a good job?_

_Stiles: Boyfriend. I can work with that. Am I coming round tonight then, boyfriend?_

Something in Derek’s stomach does a little swoop as he realises what he just said. What they just confirmed. It’s only been a couple of weeks, but things are going well. There’s been no more kissing since the first time, but they curl up together pretty much as soon as Stiles arrives at the loft and Derek is getting better at quelling his gut reactions when Stiles’s hand edges under his t-shirt or curls around his thigh. Rationally, he likes the touch, he trusts Stiles, he wants this. But it doesn’t stop his gut twisting at the reality of it, and he’s not really sure how to fix it, apart from to wait. It feels like sneaking up on a timid cat. Not that he’s going to tell Stiles that, he would never let him live it down.

_Me: He did very well, yes. I am suitably in fear of my life should I ever make you cry._

_Me: Yeah. Unless you want to go out?_

_Stiles: Oh hey, is my fancy man taking me out for dinner and a movie?!_

_Me: Please never call me that again. Is there even anything good on at the moment?_

_Stiles: I think there’s the usual classic horror marathon at that old place downtown. We could load up on nachos and then discuss loudly and obnoxiously how we would handle the baddies better._

_Stiles: Babe, I am so classy, aren’t you glad you got me on your arm._

Derek can feel himself grinning like a fool. He looks around quickly to make sure he is alone. This shit could do serious damage to his hard won asshole persona.

_Me: Yes. I want to shout it from the rooftops. Pick you up at 7? And if you try one more pet name I am going alone._

_Stiles: Whatever you say, honey._

_Me: I have no idea why I like you._

_Stiles: But you do._

_Me: Yeah, I do. It’s kinda gross._

They go to a diner and make themselves sick on chilli nachos before sneaking into the movie late, the black-and-white starlet already screaming in the face of the first monster of the night. It’s one of those theatres with big sagging leather sofas instead of seats so they fold themselves up into a faded, cracked leather specimen at the back. Stiles wriggles into position between Derek’s knees, his back to Derek’s chest. He pulls Derek’s arms around onto his stomach and digs his head into Derek’s shoulder. Derek feels a lot like a body pillow but it’s hard to hold a grudge when Stiles is drawing little circles on the back of Derek’s hand and occasionally tipping his head back to include Derek in a spectacular eye roll at the movie in front of them.

By the third movie they have sunk down so far that they are basically lying full length, Stiles mushed on top of Derek. He hit the concession stand half an hour ago and is now eating sour patch kids out of a bag balanced on Derek’s chest, his ear pressed to Derek’s heart. Derek stretches and runs a hand down the length of Stiles’s back, snagging on where his shirt has rucked up against Derek’s belt buckle, a quick glint of bare, warm skin. Stiles turns his head to meet Derek’s eye, a candy held between his lips. He flips his head back to get it into his mouth and then just goes back to gazing at Derek, chewing slowly. This close his breath smells of sugar and pretend fruit, his lips sticky and the point of his chin digging into Derek’s sternum with every chew. He swallows and then keeps eye contact as he ducks down to press a close mouthed kiss to Derek’s t-shirt. He then turns his head back to the screen, his ear pressed once more to Derek’s now accelerated heartbeat.

“Christ, it’s like they don’t even think,” Stiles mumbles. “Get everyone around that door and bottleneck them, it’s basic stuff, man. And that lamp ain’t gonna do shit against a zombie. Jesus.”

A little while later, Stiles does a kind of awkward, boney shuffle up Derek’s body until his head is level with Derek’s on the arm rest. They’ve both been drifting in and out, probably couldn’t answer any questions about this movie but there’s something cosy about the bubble they’ve made at the back of the loud theatre, and they don’t want to move.

Stiles pushes his face into Derek’s neck, and Derek is sure he feels a feathery press of lips against his stubble. He tentatively brings a hand up to rest on the back of Stiles’s head and pulls him back so he can see Stiles’s face. Stiles blinks his eyes open and he’s doing that thing where his gaze darts between Derek’s eyes and his lips and Derek knows what this means.

Derek’s heart is thumping loudly in his chest and he’s suddenly a lot more awake than he was. Stiles isn’t moving, he seems to be waiting for Derek to take control, licks his lips. Derek’s stomach drops out as he moves forward and here they are again. It’s gentle, almost chaste, a careful movement of mostly closed mouths and hot, damp breath. Derek kind of resents the cliche for being true, but Stiles’s lips are so soft and for the first time in a lifetime this is pleasant, it feels like melting into syrup instead of trying to win a game he doesn’t know the rules of. When they eventually break apart he feels dizzy. Derek rests his forehead against Stiles’s and grins at him. He feels absurdly elated and proud of himself. Stiles is grinning back at him with his shiny, flushed mouth and honestly if they keep this up their faces are going to hurt. Derek stifles a full blown laugh and presses one last kiss to Stiles’s lips before pulling him in for a tight hug, burying his face into Stiles’s neck.

There might be more movies after that, Derek really couldn’t say.

~

Scott is eyeing him from the sofa. Not the kind of eyeing you do when your gaze just happens to fall on someone when they're making coffee, but the kind of eyeing you do when you are expecting them to shortly stop making coffee, and start explaining themselves. In detail. It's not the kind of eyeing that Derek relishes from Scott.

"Yes, Scott?" Derek says, keen to get the interrogation started so that it can finish.

"You and Stiles."

"Yeah. Me and Stiles." Derek says cautiously.

"He seems happy," Scott says.

"I think so, yeah." Derek leans back against the counter, abandoning the coffee machine. "Me too, y'know. He's great."

Scott holds Derek's gaze for a few seconds. "Well, you're not quite the douchecanoe you used to be, man. Or appeared to be. I'll not say this often, but you're a good guy. And Stiles is a big boy. Sure, he's made some poor life choices in the past but they've usually been for the benefit of people he cares about. I'm happy for you that you're one of them, y'know. Stiles is my best friend, I see why you like him, even when he is a total dork.” Scott pauses.

"Know that if you hurt him, though, I will rip your throat out. With my teeth." Scott grins.

"... He told you about that, huh?" Derek says.

"Dude, he tells me everything." Scott winks and jumps up off the couch. "Right, enough intimidation, I have things to do." Scott bounds out of the loft to go and heal some puppies or snuggle with Isaac. Derek finds the whole co-captaining thing goes much better when he believes that Scott is the true alpha equivalent of Mary Poppins. He's not even sure it's much of a fiction.

Stiles chooses this moment to emerge from Derek's bedroom, thundering down the iron stairs like an excitable elephant.

"Dude! Best best friend speech ever. I can't believe he really used that line. What a hero." Stiles crows.

Derek just raises an eyebrow. "Good 'nap'?"

"Heh, come on. I don't think Scott is ready to see me coming out of your bedroom looking this sexy anyway." Stiles gestures to his bed head, the pillow marks on his cheek, the ratty old pyjamas he's taken to leaving at the loft. "He might get the wrong idea, think you're not treating me right."

"Am I treating you right?" Derek asks cautiously.

"Oh my god, yes. So right. I'd feel bad about you basically acting like a giant body pillow if you didn't blatantly purr so much. Who needs wine and roses and shit like that when I can hug all over this?" Stiles murmurs, sidling up to wrap himself around Derek's torso.

Derek sinks a hand into Stiles's hair and scratches until Stiles is making little purring sounds of his own.

"So you're ok with... what we do? Or don't do," Derek asks uncertainly.

Stiles sighs against Derek's shoulder, a whuff of damp air cooling slowly as he shifts his head.

"Of course. I keep saying, I'm cool, stop worrying. I can't believe you're making me say this dude, but fine. You pushed me." He pulls back and takes Derek's face between his hands, looking him dead in the eye. "I want you for more than just your body. I actually like you, like like-you like you. Don't let this go to your head but you are kind of great, and funny when you want to be, and a giant douchebag but also sweet and thoughtful and you have this gooey centre that you suck at hiding. Yes, you are also hot like burning and I want to do all kinds of depraved things to you but I don't _need_ to. And I sure as shit don't want to do that when you don't want me to. So shut up and hug me."

Derek shuts up and hugs him.

"You're kind of great too. Sometimes. When you're not being a dick," Derek says, pressing a dry kiss to Stiles's temple. "Thanks."

Derek feels a smile against his shoulder before Stiles raises his head and nudges a light kiss to his lips. It's unassuming, he still lets Derek call the shots with anything more than manhandling Derek's limbs around, but Derek appreciates that Stiles will initiate a kiss now. He doesn't like to feel delicate, even if he does need the space.

"Couch?" Derek asks. "This would probably be more comfortable lying down." 

"You are such a bad influence. It's 2 pm. Have you no shame?"

"None at all," Derek says, opening his mouth into the kiss and walking Stiles backwards towards the couch.

They land with a thump, Derek pressed beneath Stiles's weight. Stiles looks down at him thoughtfully for a moment before latching his mouth back onto Derek's.

Things quickly get more heated than they have before, Stiles is making these little whining noises that should be hilarious but are actually adorable and kind of the sexiest thing Derek can think of. He can feel Stiles getting hard against his thigh, and it's so close to his own erection, he could just move slightly…

Stiles honest to God moans and opens his mouth even wider against Derek's, his tongue moving inside Derek's mouth and this should be too much but it's not, it's not even enough. Stiles's hips are making little jerking thrusts against Derek's and his hand wanders towards Derek's flies.

Derek makes an abortive grunt and pulls Stiles's hand away, rolling them over so that he's looming over Stiles, who looks up at him like he's been clubbed. He's flushed and blotchy and his eyes are glassy, his lips swollen. He looks _edible_.

"Like this," Derek pants, rolling his hips against Stiles's, gasping into his mouth and mouthing at his lips as he pushes and pushes until too soon he's coming, coming in his pants, his face pressed into Stiles's shoulder.

Stiles is still rocking under him, biting kisses into his neck.

"Fuck, Derek, that is the sexiest thing that has ever happened to me. You're so hot, that was so hot."

Stiles is babbling, and so close to his own orgasm, but Derek can't help but glow with the praise. He reaches into Stiles's pyjama pants and takes a hold of his cock, catching his mouth in a kiss at the same time. He pulls, just twice, and then Stiles comes in a rush all over Derek's hand, his wet mouth hanging open and his eyes fixed on Derek's. For a split second he just wants to bury himself in Stiles, in every way and with everything he has, and then he calms, and slumps over against Stiles's chest, sticky and happy.

After five minutes of panting into damp flesh, Derek feels the stickiness getting cloying and gets up to make for the bathroom.

"Just need to clean up," he tells Stiles, planting a kiss on his blotched cheek.

By the time Derek gets to the bathroom door it's all he can do not to slam it and tear his clothes off. This feels too much like being sixteen, too much like Kate grinning down at him while he squirmed like something pinned.

He feels sick now, he can hardly believe he let that happen. He forgets that it was Stiles and that he wanted to and that Kate has been dead for six years. He forgets everything he knows about sex not being a thing that makes your family burn and your friends die and eventually he forgets not to cry, forgets to stand up.

The next thing he knows is Stiles knocking on the bathroom door. He sounds a bit frantic, like maybe he's been there for a while, so Derek gets up to open the door.

"I'm fine," Derek says, before looking down at the picture he must be to Stiles. He never undressed so his jeans lie open and still messy, and he must have been tearing at his hair because his scalp feels tender and there must be tear tracks on his face.

"Ok, I'm gonna diplomatically ignore that blatant lie there, Derek. What can I do?" Stiles asks.

"I don't know. I don't even... I'm sorry, I'm a mess, I told you I'm bad at this. I'm sorry, I-" Derek stutters.

"No, stop right there. No apologising, if anyone's sorry it's me, but let's just table that for now and get you less... crusty, shall we?" Stiles says.

Derek sags in place against the bathroom tile. "Ok."

"Right, I'm gonna get the shower running and then I'm gonna sit outside the door and just... monologue or something. Does that sound like a plan?" Stiles asks gently.

"You can stay in here, it's ok. Nothing you haven't seen before, right?" Derek means it to come out as a joke, but it doesn’t really work.

Stiles just nods and sits on the toilet seat, picking at bottles and generally avoiding looking at Derek. Derek feels bad momentarily, to have put Stiles in this position, but he has no idea how to fix it, really. Not until he has himself sorted.

He peels himself out of his anxiety-stained clothes and climbs under the hot spray. Once the evidence has been removed he feels better. More in control, like he has been pulled back out of his past.

Stiles clears his throat. "Derek. I’m sorry. I.. I feel like maybe I pushed? I hate that I did that. That I made you feel like that."

Derek rinses his mouth out, pulls a hand through his hair and turns the water off.

"You don't need to be sorry. I wanted to, and honestly you make," Derek sighs, "fuck, just the sexiest noises, you have no idea. I just... I guess I shouldn't have left after, let myself get pulled into a flashback or something. You're nothing like her. That was nothing like with her. It was always gonna be... odd, the first time back in the game. Or whatever."

"Ok, that... ok," says Stiles.

They're stuck in an odd stalemate. Derek isn't sure he's ready to open the shower curtain, and Stiles isn't going to open it for him.

"You coming out?" Stiles asks

Just that suddenly makes Derek feel ridiculous and he pulls the curtain back. Stiles, bless him, is still carefully avoiding looking below Derek's neck, but he smiles at him as he twirls a Q-tip between his fingers.

"I could kind of do with one of those, man," Stiles says, gesturing to the shower, and Derek notices that yeah, Stiles does reek of sex.

"I dunno," Derek leers, "I like that smell on you. You smell like I treat you right."

"Dude, that you can stand there naked and say that to me is just unfair."

~

It's a week later and they've not had sex again yet, but Derek is taken aback to realise that he and Stiles have been together for nearly two months and it's the most successful relationship he has ever been in. Ok, that is saying very little, but it's good. It's really good. He is self aware enough to realise that he now starts most internal monologues with, "if Stiles were here..." and that's in the few windows when Stiles isn't quite literally here with him. They have become that couple.

It's a strange thing to go through this with someone who has been a friend. Three months ago Stiles was a loyal friend, sure, and Derek liked having him around, but now he keeps getting caught staring at Stiles’s mouth, and he could name each and every one of his cousins or tell you exactly which flavour of disgusting syrup he wanted on his disgusting pile of ice cream and candy.

He wonders if this is what his parents marriage was like. They died before he was old enough to see their relationship as anything other than icky, or as the glue that kept the pack together. Then he realises he is comparing his boyfriend of two months to his parents marriage of thirty years and feels a bit silly. One step at a time, he thinks.

He gets a text from Stiles.

_Stiles: So, my dad's out of town tonight, wanna come over?_

_Me: Stiles, you are 23 years old. I have my own place. We haven't needed to sneak around for years now._

_Stiles: But you want to anyway, right? This is where you demonstrate your sense of romance._

_Me: Romance? Consider my expectations for anniversary dinners officially lowered._

_Stiles: I'm gonna take you for the best lobster dinner you have ever eaten. Now get over here so we can neck like teenagers and throw popcorn at the TV without my dad yelling at us._

_Me: Fine. I'll be there at 8._

 

Derek shows up at Stiles's door with flowers, because despite his protestations he feels like a teenager, he feels new at this in a way he didn't get a chance to be when he actually was new at this. Stiles throws his head back and laughs, cradling the flowers and pinning Derek to the wall with a filthy kiss that he definitely wouldn't have tried at 15.

At this point the rest of the pack has definitely noticed. Derek would be tempted to question their intelligence, not to mention their training if they hadn't. The "pack mom" jokes have started up, which Derek secretly enjoys in a way he doesn't particularly want to examine but which he suspects annoy Stiles more than he lets on. Derek has a dream that Stiles is pregnant, that it's his, and he wakes up hard and gasping. That is really not something he wants to examine. Or mention to Stiles. Maybe in a few decades.

There may have been no more mutual orgasms, but they now sleep together four nights out of seven. The sheriff has gotten used to finding Derek at his breakfast table, and no one is surprised that Stiles is already at pack meetings before they are even arranged. They glue themselves together and they kiss a lot, but neither of them have initiated anything further since The Couch. Derek thinks Stiles just doesn't want to cause a repeat, and he will admit to himself that he is scared to knock the status quo. It works, and there are no histrionics this way. But he _wants_ Stiles, he does. And he sometimes thinks Stiles is holding back, getting antsy. He worries that if they keep this up it'll end in a fight, or worse devolve into an awkward silence prolonged enough to suffocate the relationship.

So next time they're in bed, he let's his hand drift to Stiles's ass, under his pyjama pants and he nips at his neck in the way that always makes Stiles’s dick twitch. He grinds their hips together and works his tongue further into Stiles's mouth, waiting for a response.

Stiles does him proud. He rears back and his gaze flicks desperately between Derek's eyes.

"Derek. Fuck. Can I suck you off?"

The only response Derek can muster is to nod vigorously, a flush creeping up his cheeks as Stiles dives back in to kiss Derek.

Stiles starts to edge down his body. "Condoms?"

"Can't catch or carry anything," Derek pants when his brain catches up. "Up to you."

Stiles just grins wickedly and lowers himself further, flicking his tongue across Derek's nipple as he passes, causing Derek to convulse off the bed.

Before he can catch his breath, Stiles has wrapped his lips around Derek's dick and is doing some flickering thing with his tongue. Derek can barely think as it is but when he looks down, at Stiles's lips wrapped obscenely around him, at those wide brown eyes locked onto his through those long, long lashes he is lost. He feels a dry finger just resting near his hole and even the thought of that, just the suggestion has him shooting into Stiles's mouth with no warning.

"Fuck, sorry, sorry, bad etiquette, I-" Derek starts.

He doesn't get to finish that thought because Stiles has shot up the bed and is licking into his mouth and he can taste himself, and he can feel Stiles's sticky erection against his thigh and he suddenly just really wants to try this. Derek realises that this is happening, and this is ok, in fact this is amazing and this is Stiles and he just really really needs to get him on his back.

By the time he has Stiles on his back and has crawled down his body, Derek has had time to realise exactly what a big deal this could be. That's a dick, right there, and it's going to go in his mouth. Derek glances up at Stiles and he's just looking at him, his flushed face soft and fond as he cards a hand through Derek's hair. 

"Man, you are so pretty," Stiles says.

Derek is kind of knocked sideways by that. He raises an eyebrow, takes a brave lick at the dick in front of him. 

"Ugh, so hot," Stiles pants. "You know what I mean, handsome, manly, sexy as fuck, just... beautiful- Ah!" His attempts end in a shocked little gasp as Derek sinks further down onto Stiles's dick. It's not far, but it's apparently enough to render Stiles speechless. 

Derek has imagined what this would be like, but of course it's not really anything like that. He feels powerful in a way he didn't think he would, and it's uncomfortable in a way it never was in fantasy, but it's also heady and fantastic in exactly the way he hoped. Stiles is helpless underneath him, making little noises, stroking Derek’s hair and shoulders and looking at him with a mixture of awe and tenderness. He moans around his mouthful and feels Stiles get harder at that, his hips jerking and almost choking Derek. 

"Sorry, sorry. Fuck, I am so close," Stiles gasps. 

Derek redoubles his efforts, hollowing his cheeks, flicking his tongue as best he can, pulling a little at Stiles's balls. It seems to be working, Stiles isn't so much breathing now as hitching oxygen into his overtaxed lungs, jerking and clawing at the sheets. A couple of seconds later Stiles is coming into Derek's mouth, crying out and apologising for the lack of warning. Derek can't swallow it all, and some runs down his chin but he find that he likes that. He feels debauched, swollen. 

He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and looks up at Stiles, who looks nothing short of poleaxed, staring at Derek liked he crawled out of the floor and offered him the world. 

"Come here. Get up here," Stiles pants.

Derek crawls back up the bed and settles his head next to Stiles's on the pillow, looks him in the eye. 

"No going anywhere, ok?" Stiles says.

"No going anywhere," Derek replies, pressing a kiss to Stiles's temple and pulling him into his chest.

Stiles rubs his cheek into the pillow like he’s settling in.

"That went well... Thank you-" Derek starts, before realising how sappy that sounds, or possibly how inappropriate, he's not sure. 

Stiles laughs and wriggles around so he's facing Derek, so close that his face is mostly a pink blur. 

"You are _so_ welcome. That went more than well, that was some romance novel levels of banging right there. Like in the good way. You're amazing. And I'm gushing. Kiss me so I shut up, alright?"

Derek kisses him, and he shuts up. 

~

People still look at Derek and assume he is having more sex than anyone else in the room, and he still looks daggers at them when they do. They’re still wrong, too, but it matters even less now. Especially when he can look over at Stiles and know that he’s having exactly as much sex as he wants to be having, and with exactly who he wants to be having it with.

**Author's Note:**

> I tumbl at [theresholesinthesky.tumblr.com](http://theresholesinthesky.tumblr.com), where I mostly rec writing far better than my own and reblog snarky gifsets.


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